


Can't Contain My Heartbeat

by northerndanpour (nagirci)



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Blind Character, Blindness, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:59:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1253737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagirci/pseuds/northerndanpour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Lester is blind. Always has been. He was born that way. But he’s always managed to take it into his stride, and he’s always been fine. Well, with a friend like Carrie, how could he not have done? But he’s about to find that things can get complicated when you can’t see, with the arrival of new student Dan Howell, the boy with the soft voice and kind words who changes Phil's life in a way that he could never even imagine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

If you were to look at Morganfield High School from the outside, all you’d see is an ordinary school, exactly what you’d expect to see. A tall, plain building, it’s been referred to as more of a prison building than a high school, more for incarceration than education. And despite the fact that the gardens are well tended to and the students smile and laugh in small groups and sunlight streams brightly over each and every plant on this particular day, it doesn’t do much to distract from the miserable shadow that the building casts over the grounds.

On the inside, the school is more presentable, if only by a little. Almost each and every wall is painted a pale shade of purple, and the hallways are kept clean and neat, and a few trophy cabinets hide away in the front office and P.E. department, showcasing the talent that the school’s students supposedly show. Swimming trophies, Dance medals, and that one wooden shield that the school’s choir won at the local music festival. But aside from these, for the most part the school looks almost the same as it does on the outside - ordinary, in every aspect.

However today, as you walk into the maths classroom, you may see a student that most people would deem as anything but ordinary. He looks normal enough - black hair, a little messy and askew as he sits at his desk, and piercing blue eyes that are as clear as a summer sky. But he is not like the girl next to him, her desk drawn close to his, who busily scribbles her working into an exercise book. He is not like the rest of the class, who sit in silence as they work, aside from the occasional sniff or groan of frustration. Because the boy sits at the front of the room, hands darting over the keys of a typewriter that has, not letters on its keys, but small raised dots.

The boy’s name is Phil Lester. And he is blind.

The tapping of the keys he presses down rings loudly throughout the otherwise quiet room, and he is oblivious to the small glances that some of the other students share as he works away. But he knows it’s going to happen, it does sometimes. He doesn’t see it coming, but he always hears it, and it makes him jump sometimes but he has to admit, it is funny. If he didn’t find it funny, he’d have to be offended. So when the typewriter reaches the end of the line he is typing, when the loud _ping_ rings through the room, he laughs with the class when they cry out “Elevator up!”

But when he hears the chair next to him squeak as the girl moves, he knows that she hasn’t found it so funny. She never really does, and neither would he had he not already chosen to take it as a joke. And he knows that it’s just because she’s his friend, just because she cares, but sometimes he just wishes she’d loosen up a bit. “Shut up, all of you,” she says sharply to the group, whose laughter is just beginning to die down, her tone sounding wrong when placed against the volume and quality of her voice. “That joke’s so stupid. How many times are you going to tell it?”

“It’s okay Carrie,” Phil interrupts gently, before anyone can answer her. “It’s only a joke. It’s funny.” And of course, there have been times where he doubts that himself, where he wonders if they really are just joking with those words and their laughter. But then he remembers how remarkably non-judgemental his fellow students are. He remembers that a lot of them help him between classes, several of them ask him how he’s doing a lot, and none of them have really ever said anything outright _horrible_ about it. Still, that doesn’t stop Carrie from turning back around with a huff, muttering “It’s really rude if you ask me,” and shoving a stray curl of her blonde hair behind her ear.

“Guys,” Mrs Granby calls out, her light tone immediately grabbing the attention of all the pupils. Phil has decided that Mrs Granby is cool - at least, she sounds that way, with a gentle tone and a pretty laugh and kind explanations. “Calm down, okay? No more jokes.” The young teacher lets her eyes flit up to the clock on the wall, which shows the time as being three o'clock when school finishes at five past. Sometimes, the time flies by so fast that she forgets to let the kids out, and she doesn’t want to have to keep them late today. “Okay, before the bell rings, let’s meet our new student.”

Everyone looks up at that, except for Phil of course, but even he is a little surprised. New student?

Mrs Granby nods toward a boy sitting just behind Phil, tall and spindly and shuffling uncomfortably in his seat, as though he can feel everyone staring at him from where they sit. They probably aren’t, and he knows that, but he can’t help but feel it when he woman at the front of the class has so clearly pointed him out. His dark hair falls over his left eye as though he’s hiding from something, but his brown eyes glitter in a weird way and the corners of his mouth naturally turn up, stuck in a small smile. "Dan," she says, a smile gracing her own lips. "Think you could come up and say hi?"

Phil hears the scrape of chair legs as the boy behind him moves, but he doesn’t know if he’s pulled his chair in or pushed it away to stand. “I don’t… I don’t think that’s really necessary, miss,” a soft, careful, uncertain voice replies. From the boy’s tone and words, Phil decides that maybe the former is more likely.

“Of course it is!” Mrs Granby responds cheerfully, maybe slightly overbearing. “Come here.” And Phil can’t help but wince because he likes Mrs Pentland and knows she means well, but something tells him that, even as he hears the boy stand and move to the front of the class , he really doesn’t want to be there. It’s like he’s a very small bird, so easily scared off, so ready to go back into hiding with even the slightest noise or scare. But then, Phil thinks, he’s new. Everything has to be a bit weird right now. He’ll get used to it.

“Well, erm… hi,” he hears the distinctly southern voice say to the class uncertainly. And Phil smiles, because it’s almost like he can hear the shy smile that he speaks the words with. “I’m Dan Howell.”

“Hey, Dan Howell,” the class replies, almost in complete unison. Their tone is quite warm and yet, it’s casual, like having a new student is nothing. But then again, maybe it is. It could be. Having new people in school is nothing like films, because in films they’re getting stared at and tortured and never left alone. But something tells Dan that no one here is going to bother trying that with him - he really is nothing special, after all. Not really worth the stress.

But of course, that thought immediately dispels when the paper ball hits him square in the face. Not painfully, because it is only paper, but definitely enough to surprise him for just a moment as he looks at the students in front of him with wide, brown eyes. But even as they laugh, he doesn’t feel as though it was malicious. He doesn’t know how or what, but something about their laughter is soft and warm, as though it was a way of welcoming him, if a bit of a weird way. He can’t help but let a smile prick up the corners of his lips.

“What happened?” Phil whispers in Carrie’s ear, the only clue that anything happened being the laughter ringing around the room.

With a small sigh, she responds “The boys threw a paper ball at Dan.” The displeasure in her voice is palpable, and Phil knows how much she hates it when people do things she thinks to be rude, jokingly or otherwise. It’s not because she’s boring or humourless - she’s only so easily upset by it because she really cares, because she has such a kind heart. But it was just a joke, Phil knows that. He probably would have laughed had he seen it. He doesn’t say that, mind you; just nods in acknowledgement and bites his lip, leaning back in his chair just as the final bell rings.

“See you tomorrow, everyone!” Mrs Granby’s voice sounds across the room as she gathers her belongings, everyone else doing the same. “Remember that you’ve got homework due on Monday, alright?” And just for a moment, she looks over at Dan and smiles encouragingly. “Just pick anyone and say hi,” she tells him. “You’ve got plenty of time to make a friend or two, okay? Any issues, come and find me.”

The young man nods at her gratefully, murmuring a “thanks” and going to gather his things like everyone else. He’s been to too many new schools in the past year or so to count, but this one is the one he’s felt best at by _far_. The teacher is kind, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone that really wants to get at him for anything more than a kind laugh at his expense. It’s better than what he hoped for, anyway. Even if he doesn’t make friends, Mrs Granby seems kind enough to be one. Maybe.

He almost jumps out of his skin when he hears the girl’s voice say “Hey, Dan.” But he looks up at her, at Carrie, and any surprise he felt dissipates immediately. She has kind features, soft brown eyes just like his own and wild, blonde curls that fall in her face no matter how hard she tries to push them back into place behind her ears. She’s quite a bit shorter than him, too - a foot, at least. She looks very much like one of the princesses he read about in those fairy tale books as a child. The only difference is that she doesn’t wear a silken dress, but a neat school uniform instead.

But it takes a moment for him to return the greeting, because a tall, slender boy with black hair and the bluest eyes that Dan has ever seen rests his hand gently on her arm, the gesture oddly intimate but, at the same time, for ease and for navigation. He wears a soft, gentle smile as he stares at nothing. And for just a moment, Dan stands in an awkward, near mesmerised silence until he can gather himself to simply reply, “Hello.”

“Hi there,” the other boy says, his smile widening as he holds out his hand. Dan smiles warily and takes his hand, shaking it carefully but warmly. He would have offered his hand to shake first but, judging by the typewriter he saw the boy using, he wouldn’t be able to see it. Besides, he isn’t quite _that_ comfortable, not yet. Maybe soon, after a few weeks when he’s settled, but not now. “I’m Phil.”

“Hi, Phil.”

Carrie smiles, glad that Dan doesn’t seem to be contemplating running off like some of the new kids have done, like she’s done herself in her younger years. She remembers how nerve wracking her first day was, and how much she could have used the kindness before she started talking to the lonely boy with the black hair in the corner, who had never seen her but loved her company all the same. “Is your house up or down the street?” she asks.

Dan can’t help but feel like that’s  little bit invasive, but still answers because it’s obvious that she doesn’t mean anything by it. “Down,” he says, gesturing vaguely in the direction just in case she missed it. That earns him the sound of her soft laugh, which rises a dusting of pale pink on his cheeks. “Do you want to come with us?” Carrie asks, gesturing towards herself and Phil, who nods his assent. “We live by that way, too.”

And Dan feels just a little less alone, a little less foreign, a little less ordinary as he warmly grins and says, “Yeah, that’d be awesome, thanks.”


	2. Chapter 2

Even more normal and conformist about this school is its various departments. The English department is always kept quiet and comfortable, and no one will be chatting if they can have a book in their hand. The History department is full of dusty encyclopedias and textbooks, and you'll often find the students lazily talking about the fall of Tsar Nicholas II as they write drafts of essays under the teacher's watchful eye. And the music department is always warm and loud, with the sounds of the choir drifting through the wooden doors of the classroom and various instrumental sounds coming from the sounds of the practise rooms.

The only thing that deviates from those norms on the Tuesday that follows Dan’s arrival is the fact that the P.E. department is oddly silent. Whereas it’s usually filled with the sounds of whistles being blown and sneakers squeaking against the gym floor and whines of disappointment from losing teams, today that’s replaced by only a flat kind of silence. Well, apart from the busy chatter of the two best friends that sit at the end of the corridor, their backs against the heater and the world coming forth from their lips.

No one would look for them by the gym, ever. And that’s what Carrie likes so much about it. It’s closed off, its private and It’s perfect. And the hours they spend sat on the balcony that overlooks the squash courts are theirs, and they’re wonderful, and they’re more enjoyable than most things about school; but they just aren’t long enough sometimes. Because Carrie knows that she could stay this way forever, if she could, with the one person she knows actually cares about her lying with his head in her lap, letting her play with his soft black hair.

“I’m telling you, Phil,” she’s saying after the boy laughs. “Bethan was staring at you during pretty much the whole test. She was the last to leave the room.”

Of course, Phil couldn’t tell, and therefore doesn’t know if Carrie’s lying to him. It’s not really something that’d be lied about, but from what he’s heard Bethan say and from whom he knows she talks to, he really doesn’t see her being interested in him. He’s just the boy who sits at the front that people are extra kind to because of his handicap, not really someone to be interested in, not really someone special. But he doesn’t say that, just lifts an eyebrow and says, “You know I’m really not into her, don’t you?”

Carrie sighs a little, although a smile pricks up the corners of her lips. “You’re really not into anyone,” she rsons teasingly, giving his forehead a little poke. It’s not that she’s nosy or that she wants to intervene; she just wants the boy to be happy, really. And there’s just an air of shyness and loneliness about him that, although it doesn’t come out when they’re together, she can see shine through sometimes. “Or you never tell me about it,” she presses. “Come on, I'm your best friend. I should know about that, dude. I always tell you about the boys I like.”

“But it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” the young man laughs back. He can tell; he hasn’t heard about anyone, male or female, for what must be months now. Carrie’s rarely interested in people, having said that, but when she is, he knows about it. “Ever since Alex, if I remember right.”

The girl snorts, shuffling a little bit. “Don’t talk to me about that idiot,” she says, but it’s fond. Maybe she does still feel for Alex a little bit, maybe she does still miss him sometimes, and maybe she does still regard him as a friend, but he’s in the past. Besides, this isn’t about her, it’s about Phil, and it doesn’t look as though she’s getting anything out of him. So, with a roll of her eyes, she simply adds, “Never mind.”

But before anything else can be said, the low echo of footsteps sounds throughout the corridor on which the balcony is situated, and Carrie is staring in the direction of the sound and so is Phil as he sits up. If this is it, if they’ve been found, they’ll either have to find somewhere new to call theirs or leave it altogether, stop coming here, leave their private conversations until they won’t be seen or found or heard. And that’s too long, and the idea of that happening makes Carrie’s skin crawl because, with all the homework and studying that has to be done, these are really the only times that they have.

The skinny boy appears around the corner, his arms folded protectively around a book, and the girls sighs out relief. Because, with his mop of untidy brown hair and chocolate brown eyes, it’s pretty obvious that he won’t do anything about them being here, because the boy is Dan Howell. And despite having known him a few days, she’s decided that they’re friends, or at the very least acquaintances. And if he’s a friend, then the secret place will remain a secret. And she likes it like that.

“Hi, Dan,” she says with a cheery smile, and Phil relaxes at the sound of the name and nods his welcome with a matching grin The young man turns at the sound of her voice and, although appearing startled, smiles in return. “Hi Carrie, Phil,” he says, pulling the book out of his protective hold and clasping it in his hands. “Mind if I sit with you guys?”

“‘Course not,” says Phil, patting the empty space next to him where his hand lies on the floor.

With a grateful wink in Phil’s direction, even though he knows the boy cannot see it, Dan sits where he’s gestured to do so. Carrie sighs and shakes her head, but can’t seem to rid herself of the smile that’s set on her lips. She likes Dan, likes him a lot, and he seems to have settled in wonderfully since she saw him for the first time the previous week. Whereas he seemed shy and had to get to know, he’s opened up, and she thinks that maybe, just maybe, that’s due to her and Phil being there and talking with him when no one else will or would. They’re friends, she likes to think, and so do the two boys sat next to her.

“How are you settling in, Dan?” Phil asks, with an edge of politeness that’s almost too soft, but not quite. Not quite, because Dan hears it; Dan knows he’s genuinely interested, and he’s grateful for that. Why he’s interested, he’s not sure. Probably out of the goodness of his own heart - he’s a nice guy, after all. “Are you finding your way around okay?”

Dan holds up the book in his hands by way of explanation, the book with the black cover and famous golden bird decorating the paper. It’s one of his favourite books, and he’s read it so many times he could probably recite it backwards, but every time he reads it, it’s like he never has before. But then he remembers, and awkwardly clears his throat, and says “Well, I found the library. It’s really big.” And to distract from Carrie’s ever so slight laughter, he quickly adds “So do you think that you did okay on the maths test?”

Immediately, Carrie nods. She’s always been okay at maths - not brilliant, but definitely enough to pass comfortably. “I think it was alright,” she says truthfully, although she supposes she’ll find out when they get their papers back. She stifles a giggle at her next thought, and throws a sideways glance toward Phil. “ _Bethan_ , on the other hand, probably not. She seemed really… _distracted_.”

Dan laughs. Then again, he doesn’t blame the poor girl. Phil’s definitely on the better looking end of the boys that he’s met in the past, and to be honest, it really isn’t a surprise to him that he’s got people interested in him. It’s odd; he’s never really described anyone as interesting, but there’s something about Phil, side from the obvious, that makes him intriguing, and Dan can’t quite place what it is. “How about you, Phil?” he asks, after he realises the resulting silence is just a second too long.

Phil shrugs. “Probably terrible,” he says, almost too lightly. “You?”

“I guess I did well,” Dan responds quickly with a shrug, flicking his fringe out of his eyes. He doesn’t really want to drag out the fact that he’s possibly done better than Phil , nor does he want to show any pity for Phil’s admitted failings. He knows how normally, people hate pity, and Phil has ironically so far seemed to be one of those people. He looks down at the book in his hands, even though it has nothing to do with what they are discussing. “But then again,” he adds, “I really like maths.”

He smiles like he can’t help himself. It’s not that maths is easy, it’s not that maths is challenging enough. It’s the fact that, no matter where he’s been or the sheer number of schools he has attended, numbers have been his constant. No matter where he goes, the double of 2 will not change, and x will alway equal the same thing in relation to what he’s being asked. And sometimes, he wishes that life was so fixed and unchangeable, because it’d be so much easier to keep a track of. But as he looks at the stunned faces of his two new friends, he knows that sometimes life is better without constants.

But Carrie isn’t all that convinced. Everyone has their talents - it’s just that, she thought his were completely different. In the drama class they share, he’s already proven himself to be an incredible actor, and she can often hear him playing piano during their music classes. She’d thought of him as someone who shared her interests and talents and, while he does, he has that too. And petty jealousy tells her that it’s a bit unfair that he’s so versatile, but she decides that it’s really wonderful all the same. Besides, his hobbies are his business and his alone.

And then her eyes flit to Phil, whose expression is a hilarious mixture of surprise and horror that she can’t help but chuckle quietly at. Phil’s talents are completely different to Dan’s. Maths, for one thing. She knows that the poor kid _hates_ it. He’s terrible at it, and he finds it pointless, and suddenly Carrie’s mind is beginning to work quickly as she beams at the pair and says, “Oh! You should teach Phil.” And, after a stunned look from the brown-haired boy, “He’s really awful at it.”

A huff sounds from Phil, even though a fond smile paints his lips. “Fuck off,” he mutters. “How would you like solving equations in Braille?”

“Shh,” Carrie giggles, lightly shoving him. “I’m teasing. Don’t be grumpy.”

Phil rolls his shoulders, leaning back against the wall. It’s not like it even _matters_ \- their exam is a while away. It’s not until June, if he remembers rightly, so what’s the point in stressing about it? Of course, he needs to work on his maths, but he can do that enough to pass in June. And after that, he never has to do it again, and that’s something to look forward to. So with a casual sigh, he simply says, “It was just a quiz.”

But that makes Dan feel a little bit weird, that is, how Phi can be so nonchalant about potentially failing an exam, failing a _subject_. He doesn’t know if he likes it or not, because on one hand he knows that grades don’t have any bearing on future life, but on the other it’ll dictate what university he can go to and hence what jobs he can get. Not that they matter right now but, then again, he doesn’t know if it’s just that that makes him reply, “I can help you for the next test. If you want.”

Before he can even respond, Phil feels Carrie’s sharp elbow in his side. Not harshly, though. It’s more of a gentle push, almost as though she’s pushing him in that direction. “I think you should do it, Phil,” she says carefully, and he can hear the gentle grin on her lips. That makes him feel slightly less defensive about it, admittedly. Still, he’s not really sure if he wants to, or if Dan will be able to help him. Of course, he’s hindered by his physical incapabilities, and he doesn’t know if that’ll slow down the learning process for him.

However, he really does need the help. June might be a long way away, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt him to get started now. And if not for that reason, if not for his own benefit, Carrie’s said that she thinks he’s should, and that girl has proven to have an awful habit of being right. So maybe it’s that, though he isn’t sure, that makes Phil shyly smile and say, “That’d be cool.”


	3. Chapter 3

And so it goes. Every Tuesday after school, Dan show up at Phil’s house armed with thick books and mathematical equipment, to be greeted by the fact that the only time that they get work done is when they actually force themselves to stare at the pages before them, Dan explaining what Phil cannot see, and even that only lasts for an hour before the two boys get bored. At this rate, Phil knows he’s going to fuck up royally, but he can retake it if he really needs to. It’s not really a  _massive_  issue, not enough for it to worry him.

It’s just that, Dan’s an awful lot of fun. Behind the first, thin layer of shyness and ambiguity lies someone that Phil is certain he imagined. And he’s sure of that, because there’s no way that someone can be so similar to him, in interests and dislikes and personality and sense of humour. And sometimes, it’s a relief to hear Dan talking to someone else or to hear him pottering around looking for something or doing something, because it’s a reminder that he’s real and that he’s not just something that Phil has made up.

God, he wishes he knew what Dan looked like. He’s tried picturing it a few times, but it’s hard pinning Dan’s voice to a specific exterior. He spends a lot of time, hours sometimes, wondering what colour Dan’s skin is and whether his eyes are blue or green or brown and if his hair is black or brown or even red, but he can’t for the life of him work up a combination that gives him something he can actually imagine. And that makes him feel like he’s talking to a voice, not a person, and that makes him a little upset sometimes.

But that doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need a face, not really, when the voice is such a lovely one. And he does learn things with Dan, he swears he does. But whatever he’s learning, a lot of it isn’t mathematical.

It’s better when Carrie’s there. He feels a bit less like he’s talking to a voice, because with Carrie’s self description and with what her voice denotes, at least Phil has a vague idea of what she actually looks like. Especially this afternoon, in their corridor, with their backs against the wall and the sun warming their skin and their laughter, bright white sound, reverberating through the air from where the space for two has become a space for three.

“Would you rather,” Carre begins, large brown eyes flickering over to Dan and sparkling with enjoyment, “have a cockroach in your jeans, or a snake in your shirt?”

Dan shudders, while he tries to decide what is worse. Phil can hear the slight groan of repulsion that involuntarily sounds from the boy, and he can almost hear him squirming, and the idea makes him laugh just a little bit because, well, the idea of a teenage boy being afraid of something like a cockroach or a snake goes completely against the expectations of most. And anyway, confirmed by Carrie’s light giggle that accompanies his own, it’s  _funny_. Dan is funny. He’s been completely different from what his first impression made him out to be - he’s not shy or rude at all, aside from being merely a tad awkward.

“The cockroach,” Dan says eventually, after a lot of deliberation. And the other two can’t help but snicker at the disgust that still knits its way in with the sound of his voice. It could be humour, it could just be cruelty, but it doesn’t stop Dan from frowning just a little at their apparent enjoyment of the situation. “I could just take off my jeans,” he elaborates, “And it wouldn’t cling to me like a snake would, would it? It’d just... fall out.”

“I don’t know, Dan,” Phil answers, trying to stop the grin that threatens to split his lips. “You know how bugs are. Maybe it’d just shimmy up into your boxers or-”

“Okay!” Dan interrupts, making both Carrie and Phil crack up. “The cockroach. My turn.” And it’s his turn to smile as he glances at Phil, who of course cannot return the look and doesn’t even know what’s coming. What should he say? Should he  give Phil something equally as horrid and watch him squirm? Or should he give him something so good that he can’t possibly choose? Because both of those things seem tempting. “Phil,” he starts. “Would you rather have a mosquito fly into your mouth, or lose-”

As if on cue, the first few bars of Citizen Erased begin to blare from Dan’s pocket, and he mutters a curse word under his breath as he fumbles for his mobile, because not only is it a bit unfair to get interrupted so rudely once he was just about to get his own back, he’s kind of gathered that this place is theirs, and that it’s hidden away for a reason. He doesn’t really want to be the one to get them discovered, even though they’re probably ages away from anyone else that could hear them and wonder why they, specifically, are there.

He swipes across his phone screen to reject the call, watching as the call screen fades off, pressing the lock button and stuffing it back in the pocket of his non-regulation jeans. But Phil’s not hanging on the words of the question now, his mind is somewhere completely different. Because he knows that song, knows it almost too well. “Was that Citizen Erased, Dan?” he asks.

Dan looks up, blinks for a moment in surprise. “Yeah,” he ventures. “You’re a Muse fan?”

Phil nods, letting the smile return to his face because, well, Carrie was the only other person he talked to that actually likes Muse and, well, finding a fellow fan of something is always exciting. “God, yes,” he says. “Seriously, Matt Bellamy. I would.”

He laughs as he hears Carrie splutter, because well, he hasn’t really been so open about that with people he’s only known for a matter of weeks, but Dan has to understand the feeling. Even though it’s a bit of a hard feeling to understand. Of course, Phil would be lying if he said that he hadn’t spent hours at a time trying to mould a face from such a lovely voice as Matt Bellamy’s, or if he said he hadn’t, well, thought a few things about that face and about that man, but there are some things better left unsaid.

Dan nods enthusiastically in response, an ever widening grin spreading across his face. “What’s your favourite album?” he asks eagerly. “I think mine is Origin of Symmetry, but I really love all of them. Like, The 2nd Law  is absolutely incredible, and I can never get over how great Absolution is. The piano in Butterflies and Hurricanes makes me feel weird every time I hear it. Like, a good weird. All shivery and happy. You know?” And he knows he’s probably rambling, but being a pianist himself, he can’t help but be enthusiastic about it. Besides, this is Muse. He has good reason to be eager.

Phil doesn’t seem to care about the fact that Dan probably isn’t making much sense, thank  _god_ , and just laughs a little, the sound making Dan feel just a little warmer. “Same here,” he says. “Origin of Symmetry is probably my favourite out of them. I think it’s New Born that really does it for me.”

And she doesn’t know what it is about suddenly not being spoken to, but Carrie thinks it’s something to do with the way Phil smiles while he’s talking that make her feel so happy with it. She likes it when he smiles, she really does, and she doesn’t tell him that enough. And she likes the band just as the two boys in front of her seem to do so, she could jump in on the conversation if she so pleased, but she keeps silent because Phil’s enthusiasm forces a smile onto her face that she can’t really wipe off, even as she looks down at her lap to try and hide it.

But before Dan can draw breath to say that his favourite song is actually Citizen Erased, before he can say that he owns all of the albums and that his biggest dream is to just go to a concert and see them live, the bell rudely interrupts him and he sighs. He really doesn’t want to go to English. He really doesn’t care about iambic pentameter or poetry of any kind, all he really wants to do is sit and talk for hours, about music and bands and anything else that might come to mind, with Phil and Carrie and anyone else who might listen.

“What’ve you two got?” He asks, watching as Carrie takes Phil’s hand in hers and helps him to his feet, then steadies herself and straightens her skirt carefully. It’s really visible sometimes, just how much she really cares about him and how close they actually are. She does most things for him before she’ll do anything to help herself, and it’s wonderful to see a person so subconsciously selfless, like it doesn’t even matter at all, like it’s no more than second nature. Phil is so lucky to have her, he really is.

“History, I think,” Carrie says pensively, as if she is unsure, before she looks at Phil who nods his confirmation. Then she smiles, assured. “We’ll meet up back here after? And then we’ll walk home, like always.”

Dan nods, with just a little chuckle. “Okay,” he says, picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “I’ll see you later then.”


	4. Chapter 4

The sun streams brightly into the space where the balcony resides, the air comfortably warm as Spring begins to settle in. Spring is Carrie’s favourite season, just for how beautiful it is, with every plant that he could possibly think of beginning to grow in place of the dismal and plain snow she’s grown so used to. She also loves Spring because it’s a time to start again, it’s a time for everything to be refreshed and renewed and, sometimes, that’s all she needs. Just some time to recuperate from the past year, before Summer brings challenges like exams and university applications and getting her grades.

Phil loves Spring too, of course, but for an entirely different reason. He loves it because he can feel the sun warming his back and hear the sounds of new beginnings all round him. He loves it, just because the motion of the season is clockwork and unchangeable.

And it’s this particular afternoon, after class has ended and after the rains of the week before have long cleared, that makes Phil feel that familiar warm sensation as he props himself up on the railing of the balcony that stretches just a touch from the building over the courtyard. He won’t be here long, he’s just waiting with Carrie for Dan to finish class so that they can go home. He’ll be a few minutes, at most, but sometimes you just have to treasure the little things like the sun on your back and the sound of your friend’s laughter and the moments that you get before you keep moving, before the world decides that it has to keep spinning.

“Carrie,” Phil asks, stringing out the ‘a’ in the name like it’s the beginning of a song only they know, only because it irritates her no end. And of course, he’s not able to see her roll her eyes like marbles, and she knows that he won’t be able to see her give him a rather unsavoury gesture, but he knows that she’ll be doing it, and it’s kind of hard not to laugh. He can’t laugh, because this is more important than anything else he’s ever really asked her. Well, not really. But he thinks it’s quite important. Very important. “What does Dan look like?”

“What?” the girl replies, ever so slightly taken aback.

“Dan. What does he look like?”

Carrie thinks for just a moment. The first thing that jumps to her head is that Dan is pretty, but she can’t say that. She wouldn’t hear the last of it - Phil is wonderful, but he knows how to press her buttons. Besides, even if Dan ispretty, she’s not interested in him like that. So she says the next halfway passable thing that she can summon. “Well,” she begins, pushing a spring of her hair behind her ear and out of her face, “he’s quite… he’s skinny?” She smiles, poking Phil’s arm. “And tall. Really tall. Like, maybe even taller than you.”

Phil laughs at that. “What else?” he asks.

“He’s pretty tan as well. Nice eyes, brown ones. ” She stops for a second, and Phil’s almost wondering if she’s still there by the time she speaks but when she does, he can hear the cheeky little grin in her voice, the one that even the sound of can make him laugh. “And, y’know,” she nearly giggles, “he’s on his way over.”

Phil nearly jumps at that because, shit, that’s embarrassing. There’s a reason he didn’t ask Dan himself, and even though he hears Carrie laugh at the expression that must be on his face, he’d much rather not have to explain that he was asking Carrie what the boy looked like. It’s weird. And Phil’s never really been the type to care about that, but this is different. Dan already knows that Phil is a little bit strange, but this just oversteps the mark a little bit. He’s just glad that they can leave now; he wouldn’t have wanted to hear about this all day (because, knowing Carrie, he would have).

It’s not all he wanted to hear, mind, but as he hears Dan’s approaching footsteps and a cheerful “Hi!”, he knows it’s a bit late to hear anything else. He’ll just have to ask Carrie later on, when they’re next alone. Right now, all he really wants to do is go home because it’s been a hard day today, so he nods. “Hey,” he greets back. “Are we going, then?”

The weather’s even nicer once they’re properly outside, instead of on the balcony of their godawful school building. When they’re walking, it’s like summer has already started, even though they’ve still got a few months to go until that happens. Phil likes Summer, even if it’s just a little bit too warm, for very much the same reason that he likes Spring; it’s always constant. It doesn’t have the everchanging condition of Winter, nor the way that Autumn is the inbetween. In Summer, he’s got as long as he wants to have because, well, it’s set and it’s beautiful. And so is Spring, but Summer’s got the added element of freedom that he never really has.

“Carrie,” Dan says after a while “Don’t you live around here somewhere?”

The girl nods, her hair falling in front of her eyes. “Yeah,” she says, pointing at a small house, painted white, about 100 metres behind them. “Just that one, right there.” She lives further away from Phil than she would like, really, because she has to walk so far to go and help him to school. She doesn’t like the idea of him using that awful cane to walk to school. Doesn’t like it one bit.

“Then why don’t you just go home?” Dan replies, hoping silently that he doesn’t sound like he wants her gone. He doesn’t. More than anything else, he just finds the distance that she has to travel ridiculous, since he lives so much closer to Phil than she does. He could just help the boy home. “I can walk Phil from here, if that’s easier for you.”

Carrie blinks, then swallows a little as she looks from Dan, to Phil, back to Dan again. Truth is, she’s tired, and would quite like to go home, but something about leaving Phil makes her feel almost guilty. “I don’t know,” she dithers hesitantly. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m fine, Carrie,” Phil says, underscored by a small laugh because he knowsshe’s worried about him. He can tell by her tone of voice, but she doesn’t need to be. He’ll be fine with Dan; they’ve been friends for long enough now for Dan to be able to lead him to the right house. He won’t end up lost anywhere. “You can go home if you want to, I’ll be fine.”

And he swears he can hear her sigh, but he can’t decide whether it’s defeat orrelief, and he wouldn’t blame her for either. “Are you sure?” she asks, and when both boys nod, she adds: “Thanks. Thank you, guys, I’m so tired. I just need to go lie down for a few hours or so; it’s been a long day, you know?”

Dan laughs. “Yeah, we know,” he says. “It’s fine. Go get some rest, yeah?”

“I will,” the girl responds with a grin, opening her arms to give Phil a (very awkward, but then, they always are) hug before carefully moving the hand he has on her forearm over onto Dan’s. She then reaches up to give Dan a hug, too, which he reciprocates with his free arm. “Bye, guys, thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“See ya!” the two boys say almost in unison, which makes them laugh a little. And Phil hears Carrie’s footsteps as she leaves, and Dan watches her blonde mop of curls move away as she takes her steps.

“She’s great to you, isn’t she?” Dan asks after a moment, after she’s out of earshot and after they turn to keep on walking. Phil was actually getting worried for a second that Dan was gone, even though he can feel the sleeve of Dan’s sweatshirt under his fingers, but he smiles evenly as the boy leads him along. “I mean, personally, I think she worries about you a  _bit_  too much. But she means well; she’s lovely.”

“Yeah,” Phil says warmly. “I’m lucky to have her.”

The brunette turns to look at Phil, raising an eyebrow for a moment as he wonders exactly what Phil means, and his head goes straight to the possibility that they’re more than they seem to be, but he shakes that off. He could just mean that he’s lucky to have her as a friend, and he is, and Dan doesn’t even know why it’d matter if Phil and Carrie were more than friends. It doesn’t involve him in any way. “You are,” he concedes. He chuckles a little bit. “You know, I could have just run off back there and let you stumble home. You’re lucky to have me too.”

Not that he would have, and Phil knows that, but he still laughs. “I know I am,” he agrees, and they continue on a similar vein as Dan leads Phil down the quiet street, ever closer to home.


End file.
